


Before the Frost

by seelieknight



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, all those fox symbols, autumnal things, elain is a high lady, harvest season, lacks mostly plot but i tried, lots of fluff, lucien blushes, these two will be my death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 13:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8374462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seelieknight/pseuds/seelieknight
Summary: It's Samhain, the last night before winter, and the High Lord of Autumn extends his invitation across Prythian to celebrate the festivities. After the war, however, no one had heard of the becomings of Lucien's court. It was unnervingly quiet, which would cause speculation as to why it is now hosting such an event. Not being able to stay silent for long, Elain ventures too the Autumn court on her own to demand answers.





	

“Are you nearly ready?” 

Elain turned back to her sisters, both of whom looked at her as though waiting for a person to lunge off a cliff— anticipating the fall. “Of course.” 

Nesta narrowed her eyes, about to say something presumably akin to more skepticism, but Feyre subtly elbowed her and glanced towards the opened window. Nesta’s lips thinned, but she stood with their sister to exit Elain’s bedchambers. A door of hemlock obscured her view, but Elain could see Cerridwen was waiting in the corridor, her twin likely close by. The wraith sisters had taken an instant liking to the middle Archeron, their patience and silent strength in the same vein as her quiet cunning. Mere hours after assessing one another, Azriel had mentioned in passing that the three women would work together wonderfully. Nesta, and surprisingly even Amren, had given the Shadowmaster a scathing look at the suggestion. 

With a hand lingering on the wooden frame, Feyre turned back and said, “We know this must be difficult for you, but remember you will always have us to confide in. Just trust yourself to know what to do, and I promise things will get better.” 

The door closed noiselessly. 

Elain stared at her hands, her calm face at odds with the rabbit heart beneath her ribs. 

It had been four months since the war. Four months from when they’d nearly all lost each other to the wrath of a mad king, to the plague of malicious court badgering that swamped Prythian, to the wretched Never Fading Flower, Amrantha, who had, indeed, not faded well enough to be then brought back by Jurian and the powers of the godforsaken cauldron. But they were all gone now. Bled from the realm as though wrought out from a drying cloth. Yet a faint stain persisted, always reminding her of those nefarious weeks. It couldn't be washed away by soap, by rain, by blessed holy water, or by the tightening bond in her core that not a day went by could she ignore. 

The war was over, yet she felt as though the same euphoria that cleansed her family of their anguish and heartache had somehow missed her where she lingered off to the side as per usual. 

They didn't know of her dreams, this court of dreamers. How each night she’d play out the same scenes over and over— horrified that she would wake one dawn and find them missing. 

The first scene was always the haziest, muddled from her human mind. He’d been so gentle with her as he’d lifted her into his grasp and nestled her within the warmth of his body heat, away from the ice of the cauldron waters. He’d always been warm, a fire wrapped in Fae skins. The next memories were sharper, as was the pain they left in their path. A scarred face staring up at her as though a boy was looking up into the first turning leaves of an autumn tree. Hands that fit perfectly against her waist, hoisting her up so that her skirts wouldn't get muddy as he walked them back to the manor. Laughter, devious and mischievous and so, so very free that it made her want to join in, no matter the occasion, and throw her head back like a fox cackling at the moon. 

And then there was the last dream. 

Blood, so much blood, pouring from a gash in his side. She didn't know if she screamed or if her throat locked up, but she remembered rushing to him and placing her tiny fingers against the wound—holding back the torrent. His orange eyes bore into hers with a thousand emotions fleeting by, but only one truly went through their bond. Remorse. Regret for all he’d done, and for all he wouldn't be able to do…with her. 

They said Elain sprouted vines from her palms, eyes glowing iridescent white, but truly she cannot, to this day, remember what specifically happened after that. All she was told was how she’d saved him with her powers. How her affinity for growth had somehow been frenzied enough to identify the situation and act on primal instinct. 

That was the last time she’d seen him. After the healers carried his unconscious body away, Elain was whisked into a tent with Mor at her side, conveying numbers and details to Rhysand. But the words were mute, and Elain had blacked out as soon as they’d entered the tent. 

After that, things reverted to a dull normalcy. Alliances were constructed, boarders opened, celebrations around the realm commenced and fine dances were held to honor the warriors and High Lords for their bravery…It wasn’t until the news spread that Lord Beron had perished in the numbers of fallen soldiers during the war did Elain truly feel a surge of emotion. 

High Lord Lucien didn't partake in the jovial festivities, instead relinquishing to a humble recognition of the other courts and their assistance in the battle, then returning to Autumn where nothing has been reported to have occurred since. For the first time in centuries, Cassian had said, the Autumn Court was silent. 

Elain wanted to vomit.

Her mate, a High Lord. Not only that, but a new High Lord, and one who has not yet garnered the consent of the other courts. It wasn't a matter of respect, for all those who’d heard of what Lucien endured in Tamlin’s reign and seen what he’d accomplished during the war have surely come to agree that he was a admirable Fae. Rather, it was the sense of unease that worried her the most. No one knew what to think of Lucien’s new title, and with his court being so shuttered in after such violence….

Standing swiftly—nearly knocking over her night table— Elain moved to her wardrobe where she bestowed upon a dress of darkest juniper, embroidered in whirls of twisting vines and leaves, and letting her hair escape the braids she’d always worn as a child. 

Tonight was Samhain, the last dusk before winter, and the High Lord of Autumn had invited a small gathering of friends to his court to celebrate the festivity. The Inner Circle had been invited, and Rhysand told them they all must go— giving no further explanation. She knew, of course, that her sister must have whispered something through her mate’ mind, and Elain was grateful for the support… no matter how she often resented it.   
Nevertheless, she couldn't let herself sit here all night contemplating. Enough time had passed, and she was adamant to set things straight with Lucien, no matter the consequences.

It would be the first interaction they had since he’d nearly died on the battlefront, since the day Elain discovered the full extent of her cauldron-granted powers. 

As she fettered a cloak around her throat, she stole one last look to the door and prayed her family would understand why she’d gone without them. 

Elain took a deep breath, and winnowed straight into the heart of autumn.

She would face him first, with no audience or barriers to separate them. And she wouldn't hold back to capacity of her heart for the first time in her life—no, Elain would be feral in her truths, unleashed from her fears like a creature finally let out of her cage. 

xx

When she landed before a great archway made of twisting adamant, Elain frowned.

Instead of spilling her out near the entrance of a castle, the shadows and webs of her winnowing magic had led her beyond the grounds, seemingly deep within the forest— although she could spy towering spires a mile behind her. Aggravated, she was about to turn around and start walking when she noticed something rather peculiar.

Lanterns lit a pathway through the thicket, inviting vagabonds to wander deep into the cold woodlands. Lines of carved pumpkins with flames flickering within decorated the ground, trailing ahead to some unknown world. The wind lapped at her loose hair, billowing like the limbs of a great willow as it sung past her— showing her the way. There was even a pleasant scent lurking, albeit off in the distance, that conjured images of roasting chestnuts, apples, and crackling bonfires. 

It dawned on her then.

This archway was an opening to a different type of kingdom— the true home of the Autumn Court— a stretching forest that’s cider, amber, and golden arms spanned far beyond her eyes could fathom. 

She kept her shoulders back as she walked through the gates and down the flickering trail. 

As she crept on she noticed other people in the forest, farther out into the paths. Lesser fae— she noticed with slight trepidation, for the only other lesser fae she’d been familiarized with were the Illyrians and wraith twins. These faeries had varying shades of hair that bled with the dying colors of their native court. Some had wings that looked like the gnarling roots of an apple orchard while others had two slits for noses and wide, black eyes. One was completely created of prickly emerald leaves to which Elain noticed upon further inspection, were actually pumpkin vines. 

A fae with burnished yellow eyes and tree bark skin turned to her. Elain blushed at being caught ogling and sent a wary smile in the girl’s direction. Then, to her utter shock and horror, the girl bowed her head. Reverently. Swallowing, Elain shifted her eyes to see that the other milling civilians of the Autumn Court had stopped their festivities and collectively dipped their heads—no, not just a mere nod, but rather they bowed to her. As though she was royal. As though she already held a high rank amongst their court.

Elain paled.

“Thank you,” she voiced, softly enough to remain steady but loud enough to be heard. They resumed their actions, and she quickened her pace along the road. 

Whatever that was all about, she knew wouldn't ease her stress. But it was no secret that she was the mate of their High Lord, thus led her to be their…

“Lady Elain,” a shaking voice said.

She straightened like a deer and whirled around to face him. 

Of course, he looked exactly as she’d last seen him, albeit not bleeding to death. His auburn hair wasn’t tied back as per usual, but wild and untamable as it fell around his sharp facial bones. His usually quirked lips were parted in surprise, shallow breath escaping them like the hymnal of the winds masquerading around her. His metal eye was silent, though his russet one glowed animal bright; even more so in this offsetting dusk light. The forest around them seemed as if it had been painted to compliment it’s High Lord. Even his usual fitted armor was replaced with a more regal gold tunic detailed in motifs of ethereal, bare branches. His nostrils flared slightly, scenting her, and Elain didn't know whether to swoon or to snarl right back at him. 

Something solemn and predatory had been slumbering under her skin for far too long, and the sight of her mate so near, so in tuned with her…it ruptured the skin cage molded to her bones and forced a primal instinct to arise from it’s depths with ferocious hunger. 

It was enough to give her the strength she needed to do what she came to do. 

“High Lord,” she whispered.

His face tightened as though the reminder of his new title brought immense strain, and Elain could imagine it did. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why he locked up his court from the outside world upon ascending the throne. 

Stealing herself, the Archeron daughter nodded at the passing servants wringing dried garland and fixing any last crooked details. “It looks beautiful, Lucien.”

Her mate blushed begrudgingly and looked towards a particular pumpkin nestled on a nearby wooden dinning table with an intricate carving of a spider scribed. “Thank you.”

She stepped forward and placed a firm palm against his chest, feeling the warmth emitting from there and the firmness of his leith muscles. He was always a bit on the slender side in comparison to the other males Elain companied with. He was the deathly stealth to Cassian’s brute strength and Rhysand’s sheer power. In many ways, Elain had once pondered, Lucien even reminded her a bit of Azriel. But to venture into that conversation would be to snip open devastating wounds, so she’d not touch upon the matter until the two males wanted to.

Instead, she forced him to look at her. “I mean it. This place is breathtaking, Lucien. What you’ve done here…what you’re doing—it’s nothing short of spellbinding. I may not have been to the Autumn Court prior to now, but I can already sense a lightness that wasn’t mentioned whenever your court had come up in conversations before. The fires, the scents, the hues of the fallen leaves and height of these trees are things I’ve never dreamt of, let alone imagined to be so real, so…alive, in such a state of decay.” She was rambling now, but she couldn't help herself. In a court meant to symbolize the end of a life, the death of the once holy gifting of spring, she didn't imagine seeing it through the eyes of someone who took pride…and ownership over it’s bearings. Already, she realized with partial fear and awe, she was feeling tied to this realm. Tied to it’s morbid beauty.

Lucien stared at her. 

“They were wrong, you know,” she said, “about Autumn. I don’t see rot and corrosion. I see eternal slumber—serenity. Even in the mortal realm, where my sister would go out of their way to find me seeds for my garden during spring to make me happy, even then, I have always thought autumn to be the more delightful season. Strange, but captivating. Kind of like you.”

His chest was visibly rising and falling, and his eyes remained on her as he reached out and gently, so very gently, rested his fingertips against her cheekbone. She encouraged him to go further as her head lulled into his palm, so Lucien, with his other hand, twirled a loose strand of her brassy hair around his finger. She rested her other hand against his chest and stepped unbearably closer to which neither of them could move without brushing up against the other. Their noses were a mere few heads apart due to his height, but Elain could still dip her chin slightly and lay her forehead against his collarbone. And so she did.

Lucien stilled, and for a moment his hands shook as they held her. Then some battle was lost, for he wrapped her up into his embrace and drew her in impossibly close so that even the wind couldn't part through them. His head drifted to the crease between her neck and shoulder and he murmured, “You have no idea what those words mean to me, El.”

At his little term of endearment she tilted her neck to stare into his burning gaze. “I don’t want us to be apart from each other anymore.”

He was once again rigid while darkness settled upon him fraught in dark self-loathing. A look she’d seen him wear far too many times. And one she came here tonight with the intention to never see again. 

“No, no.” She breathed, “Look at me. Truly look at me.”

His eyes shone in silent pain that broke Elain’s heart. She gripped his head and made him bend to be level with her as she said with calming demand, “You are not your sins, and you are worthy of me and mine. I’m not perfect, and neither are you. But Lucien, please, I cannot bear this any longer. I wish to help you, but you must see that you are worth more than you let yourself think. You’ve been through such atrocities and yet you’re here, helping these people back to a life of tranquility after centuries of oppression.”

A drop of water cascaded down her temple, flowing soundlessly to the corner of her lip. She licked it away and made him watch as she tasted that salt water and enjoyed the flavor of letting go. 

“Elain,” he croaked.

She hushed him and, without further reflection, leaned forward to greet his velvet lips with her own. They pulled apart briefly, then met again, as if testing the feel and measuring the other’s determination. They did this a few times, nipping and sucking and teasing the other until she roughly dug her teeth into his bottom lip and he was so helplessly fucked.   
Their tongues collided in a mournful dance, teeth gnashing together and noses bumping into cheeks and jaws and throats as they devoured one another with their lips and hands and hearts. Her nails dug into his shoulders when he lifted her up, arms tightly around her waist as her legs twined against his hips like the stubborn roots of an ancient oak. Leaves rained down upon them like molten crowns whereupon the sun was receding into a thick line of red against the brazen moonlit forest. 

Her nails unclenched his shoulders and dragged up into his hair where she tugged wickedly. Lucien let loose a snarl so unlike anything she’d ever heard and met her head on with his wild eyes, more akin to a bonfire in that moment, flickering and bright and unflinching with his hunger. 

She answered her mate’s call with her own growl right in his face, and Lucien was so darkly thrilled that he felt a piece of himself igniting with fire he’d not touched in decades. He laid them gently on the covered forest floor, and Elain sat perched atop him as she drew her hands against his chest and smiled brightly at him. That smile was his ultimate undoing.

But for all his pent up desires and the driving need to finally unite with this woman, this delightful creature with the gentleness of a doe and the fearless of a fox, he knew Elain still needed time. She might not let it on, but he could sense her fear at how fast things were moving along. He knew after she’d first told him what she thought of his court that Elain came here determined to find answers, and he’d gladly grant them to her— no longer hiding behind a mask of cowardice the years in service to Tamlin and his brothers had taught him. He would bare his soul for her. Which is why he recognized her own, and what thoughts flew through her graceful mind. 

Lucien softly took her wrists in his hands and sat up, Elain still in his lap. He watched her throat, the way it bobbed as she gasped for air, the way it’s pale complexity turned milky white in the low light of dusk. He kept his eyes there as he let the words finally fall. 

“My mother used to tell my brothers and me that the foliage was so incandescent because the earth was offering one last breath of brilliance before giving into a deep slumber. I didn't think much on her words because I didn’t know much else than my own home at the time, so I had nothing for comparison. But it wasn’t until you came into my life, not to break down walls, but to guide my hand in rebuilding the ones I once had, that I found the meaning to her riddle. These trees die for a new season to thrive, and for you I’d always be in a state of decay if it meant you’d flourish in happiness. For you alone, I would take on any burdens and agony. How could I not? High Lord I might be, that is true, but you are my autumn, Elain. You command me.” 

He watched as a trickle of wetness tumbled down her throat to pool in her collar bone then looked up to see her face. His breath stilled, but Elain destroyed any last worries he had.

She smiled through her tears, “I love you.”

Lucien made an indicative noise between a sigh and a moan and brought them together once more, mumbling his love for her onto her lips again and again. They fell back into the leaves and familiarized themselves with their surroundings, both of the forest—Elain’s new home—and of her skin—Lucien’s new home.

At last the presence of other Fae entering through the ancient gates snagged both of their attentions. It was odd, sensing the wrathful wake of oceans from Lord Tarquin and the stardust and glimmering wind from Lord Rhysand as they walked together towards the festival in the forest, their families close by. Lucien looked to her and any apprehension that had once shone in his eye was now replaced by a burning strength. He grinned as he helped her back on her feet, dusting of her skirts for her while she laughed and pushed him.

“I think it would be best to greet our guests, High Lady.”

Elain's laughter quickly died. 

Lucien’s gaze remained searing as he said, “You are my equal, my strength in many ways I cannot be strong. It would only make sense for your to rule over these lands with as much control as I have ownership to—Cauldron, perhaps even more. Would you do autumn the honor, El, of becoming High Lady of the court?”

Smattered moonlight flooded the branches, making a trade of wreathed patterns and shadows across the miles of woodland ground. Wind kicked up, as though a storm approached, but they knew it was only a sign of whats to come. Of what power they would host in these woods tonight. 

She didn't answer him right away, instead grabbing his hand in hers and turning to meet their guests a little ways beyond where they’d just fallen. Lucien remained quiet at her side, his heart thundering against his ribs. 

When their guests were in sight, she gently nudged Lucien, wanting him to speak first. He shook his head almost lightly and smiled at their friends. “Nice of you to show up,” he teased.

Elain stood closer to her mate as she said, “On behalf of the High Lord and High Lady of Autumn, we welcome you to our court.”

Her sister’s both gasped and she didn't miss the genuine grin Rhysand shot her mate. Or how Lucien traded their laced fingers for an arm slung fiercely around her waist. His shoulder brushed hers and she knew the sparkle in his eyes wasn’t just from his thanks, but for the pride he felt because of the woman standing next to him as his equal. 

Soon after they’d all gathered at the elongated oak table under the copse of firelight and wind slicked trees, the High Lord of Dawn and his Lord the last to join them, all seven courts of Prythian came together at last, to celebrate the death of an old realm and the birth of a new one. They’d partied until dawn, drinking and laughing and messing around with one another in a way reserved for unchecked youth. Nesta was still sitting in Cassian’s lap as she beat the High Lord Kallias in a drinking game, and Rhysand was smiling with ernest happiness as he spoke with men he once thought would hate him for his fronts. They were all so free, in that moment. No matter their mourned losses and impending struggles, to celebrate together in the Autumn Court was to acknowledge that death brings joy in some odd circumstances. The death of this day as the sun rose was surely evident enough.

Lucien and Elain hand’t parted from one another’s side all night, going so far as to unabashedly kiss with the primitive hunger reserved for starved creatures in front of their guests. Azriel was the first to chuckle at the sight, eliciting several other grins and winks. Lucien laughed breathlessly into her cheek as she gripped his head to hers and yelled at her sister to stop being so prude (to which made Nesta spin out her drink and Cassian howl).

As they saw their families off, Elain wrapped her arms around Lucien’s stomach and burrowed herself into his back, breathing in his scent and growling playfully. 

He turned around and took her face in his hands, eyes bright with wonder.

“What now, dove?”

She touched his lips with her finger, trailing up towards his scar and resting her hand against his temple, “We sleep, for surely we deserve a long day of rest after such a night.” 

So the lady and lord of autumn walked hand in hand back towards the castle, where upon entering the grand bedchamber Elain drew Lucien to her chest and curled up against him like an animal entering hibernation. Lucien kissed her breasts, rested his cheek against his heart, and closed his eyes in peace. 

Outside, the sun melted through the land like the embers of a raging fire.

**Author's Note:**

> This was just an idea I had, you know…lacking plot or anything essential. (Nervous laughter) Just a lot of fluff and some angst. This is set after the war, presuming Lucien’s brothers are dead and everyone we care about is alive (because if they aren't I might as well be dead too). Also, complete credit to chaol/highlordlucien for inspiring Lucien’s cute pet name for Elain. I tried thinking of some other ones but after reading Lauren’s stories, I just can’t see using any other terms of endearment with these two! Hope you enjoy!


End file.
